Looking back at life in stages, I never had a musical epiphany. There was never that one concert mom or pops took me to. In the Fort Greene apartment where my family lived were my older brother’s Sega Genesis, a basketball, and toys: priceless childhood memories. Not once did I ask my parents for a musical instrument. To play outside and read were the only things I wanted to do. Between mom playing oldies as she cleaned, and my brother blasting hip hop classics, music was always on, no matter what. Marvin Gaye, Aretha, Bill Withers, Sting and Michael Jackson echoed through the house with the likes of Jay-Z, A Tribe Called Quest, Wu-Tang, and Mobb Deep.
Then there was the writing. I loved to write. I’m terrible at math but I always had a knack for words. If there was a group project in class, regardless of how much work I put in, I always delivered. Hip Hop is storytelling. Everyone has a story, but most are afraid to tell it. To find a way to speak my truth, I had to let go of that fear. But I can now acknowledge what I most love, and love to do, and I'm doing it.